What if God and Darwin Were Friends?
In Crossing the God Line: What Frankenstein Knew That Darwin Didn’t, science crashes into philosophy with the grace of a caffeinated squirrel on roller skates. This irreverent and razor-sharp romp through the gaps in evolutionary theory dares to ask: What if life didn’t just accidentally bubble up from primordial soup like a cosmic whoopsie?
From the smooth, testable timeline of human development (T1) to the pothole-riddled mystery tour of human evolution (T2), this book unpacks the logic, laws, and loopholes that most scientists would rather you didn’t notice. It pokes at Darwin with a gloved hand and politely suggests that maybe—just maybe—Frankenstein understood something about creation that we’ve overlooked: Intelligence leaves fingerprints.
Using humor, hard science, and a healthy dose of side-eye, Crossing the God Line challenges the sacred cows of randomness, entropy, and self-assembling eyeballs. Whether you're a believer, a skeptic, or just someone who’s ever yelled, “That doesn’t make sense!” at a documentary, this book is for you.
Spoiler alert: It won’t tell you exactly how life began—but it will make you question every textbook that says it already knows.
Read it. Question it.
Think about it...
Excerpt from Chapter 1
What is Carbon and Why Does it Matter?
Somewhere in the universe right now, there’s a carbon atom doing something terribly unremarkable. Perhaps it’s buried deep in a hunk of coal, sitting quietly in the dark like a retired gym teacher, waiting for a school bell that will never ring. Or maybe it’s floating effortlessly through a cloud of cigar smoke on its way to an appointment with a ceiling fan, contemplating the complexities of existential dread while simultaneously grasping none of it. It could be riding on a flea’s butt, its life a series of aimless wanderings, lacking any real direction, like a lost tourist without a map or, better yet, a well-meaning friend who just cannot be bothered to pull out their GPS. One thing's for sure: this unassuming little atom has absolutely no idea what it's doing.
Carbon, bless its elemental heart, doesn’t think. It doesn’t know. It doesn’t plan for the future—probably because it can’t even contemplate such elevated concepts as “future.” It has no brain, remember? It just exists—a nucleus with six protons, six neutrons, and six electrons swirling around it—an atom happily minding its own business. Occasionally, it’ll make a cameo appearance in a textbook, perhaps during a 9th-grade science class, usually eliciting eye rolls from impatient students pontificating that this will never matter—unaware of the irony there—or if ever they’ll use this knowledge in “real life”, or if they’ll even remember it five minutes after the pop quiz.
But here’s the kicker: despite its brainless simplicity, this little atom ends up as part of your flesh, maybe even in your own brain. That’s right! This innocent, lifeless, tiny chunk of matter plays a role in forming neurons, firing off synapses, writing poetry that could make grown men weep, building mobile apps that help people find the best vegan taco in town, and building complex quantum slipstream engines that allow us to escape the confines of our existence and explore the infinite possibilities through the multiverse portal. Okay, maybe not that last part, but you get the gist.
And this is the delightful paradox, the ultimate mystery that launches this whimsical excursion through the cosmos: How does a non-living, inanimate, cognitively vacant piece of matter—a mere carbon atom—find its way into a living, breathing, self-aware being that frets about paying taxes, ponders the nature of self-existence, contemplates life on Mars, and questions whether God might be real or merely a divine figment woven from the fabric of our collective imagination?
This moment—when our ignorant little atomic friend crosses from the realm of the simple, meaningless piece of tiny matter into the captivating world of conscious thought and living flesh—is The God Line.